Now, Peadar Mooney was undeniably a trombenik, on both counts: as a retired horse dealer who never missed a match at Easter Road and spent the days in-between, praising or castigating the Hibs players, Manager and Directors to a man, he was economical with his actions and his money and in point of fact, as probably one of the wealthiest Hibbees in the entire city, he dressed as he had always dressed in his dealing days, as a fair approximation to a tramp; indeed, his exiguity with the spondulux, the lucre, the cash – he never had a bank account and was always a cash-only man, which probably accounted for the fact that he never paid a penny in income tax in his puff, but that's not strictly relevant here – meant that he preferred to travel by shanks's pony rather than an outrageously costly taxi, and alhough he had a home, built of bricks and mortar, and superintended by a Mrs Mooney, his life had always been lived al fresco - except when a man required a pint of draught - and it was also a way of minimising the time Mrs Mooney could order him about - and so, he was ever fond of nocturnal wanderings, never far from his home on London Road and tending to be based on a rough circle with the Easter Road ground at it's centre; and it was thus that wandering through Holyrood Park in the darkling time which comes so early in November and December, he became an unwitting zeitgeber when he spotted a bundle rolling down from the summit of Arthur's Seat and silhouetted against the bright moon: he saw at a glance that it's momentum and direction made it quite possible that it would be travelling at such a speed in it's descent that it could carry on up the slope opposite and tumble over Salisbury Crags onto the rocks below (and if it was of any value, it would be snaffled before Peadar managed his arthritic way down there by the Radical Road) oh, he had learned much from his years contesting Referee's decisions from the safety of the Stands, and the actions of a rolling object were a peach to man with Peadar's eye and speed of calculation honed over fifty years as a buyer and seller of horse-flesh; so it was with commendable reflex for one normally so slow and dignified in his movements, that Peadar hurled himself in an impromptu imitation of a Goalie, not directly at the object, but at that point where his clutching hands would grab it and stop it dead!

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